[lupichorous]

                                     SEEK THE OLD BLOOD.

                                                               written by bun ! 

[lupichorous]

thinking about the fact that amelia is almost blind when the hunter comes to find her inside of the cathedral because she had previously scratched her eyes with her jagged nails  (  thus almost gouging them out  )  in a desperate frenzy caused by the many visions of beasthood that had been plaguing her in the previous weeks. 

this is why she then begins to cover the upper part of the visage with silken cloth, to conceal the damage that she has caused and that, despite her inhumane healing processes, is still visible to the keen eye. 

[lupichorous]

✞ ･ﾟ: *   UNPROMPTED.   ┊   always accepting. ↳    @straygxds​  ( yato )   has sought the old blood:   ‘ sometimes it is a very sad thing to be human and longing. ’

          𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘,  𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 '𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒  ?  𝐀 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍,  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 '𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒   ──   𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞,  𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞.  Languid and secretive is the holy woman as she ponders over her interlocutor’s words in a leisure and almost even uninterested manner,  for her achromatic gaze remains forcefully set ‘pon a horizon of unbound flames and all-devouring sins and the curvature of red-tinted tiers betrays not the thoughts pirouetting in the profundity of a  [  FRENZIED,  HUNGRY  ]  mind  ;  laughter almost spills forth at the mere mention of what it is means to be human,  almost. 

         Slender arms come to comfortably fold beneath bosom,  posture stiff but equally elegant and inherently proud,  merely yet another little detail pertaining to the ROLE that she has to play out.  The Vicar is physically and mentally tired,  anguished by the BEAST haunting her dreams at night and corrupting her thoughts during the day  ;  there is no space for idle conversations in the overloaded days of someone who is both the SAVIOR and the BUTCHER,  both the hand that gives and the hand that takes.   ❝  Sadness is deep-rooted in the nature of men,  as much as the needs to drink and eat are.  This is why,  whoever wishes to become SOMETHING MORE than a fragile vessel of flesh and bones must also be willing to abandon such trivial feelings behind...  They are hindrances,  liabilities without a purpose.  ❞  

          Head now cants to one side,  dulcet voice becomes nothing more than a contemplative whisper.  The embroidered silks of her veil dance with each movement,  arduously conceals features no longer wholly human.   ❝  To feel no longing,  to be thoroughly satiated with one’s fleeting existence...  How wonderful,  that would be.  ❞  

[alliception]

Still stuck in Bloodborne hell. Did I ever mention how much I love Vicar Amelia’s creature design.

[watchoutforintellect]

Now I am clothed in gold air with one dozen halos glistening on my skin.

Anne Sexton, from “Hurry Up Please It’s Time” featured in The Complete Poems 

[princefaery]

hmu if you’re up for some angry up-against-the-wall kissing

[meiselr]

Poetry Inspiration Moodboards | crunching bones

A human being is nothing more than a monster made of flesh and blood and soul.

[lupichorous]

howls.

[einarrdottir-a-blog]

“Who’s the real you? The person who did something awful, or the one who’s horrified by the awful thing you did? Is one part of you allowed to forgive the other?”

— Rebecca Stead, Goodbye Stranger (via wordsnquotes)

[lupichorous]

i didn’t touch this blog in months and yet, everyone was so ready to bother my woof vicar again 😭😭 this made me so happy 😔😭

[lupichorous]

amelia will always be a  holy woman  in the eyes of both citizens and the church but you cannot tell me that she didn’t have her own share of fun with fellow hunters when she was still nothing more than a white church hunter.   y’know...   drinking old blood that enhances the senses and the most bestial instincts, the adrenaline of the tremendous fights, not knowing if they would have survived another day...   one has to find some enjoyment in life, after all. 

[lupichorous]

✞ ･ﾟ: *   UNPROMPTED.   ┊   always accepting. ↳    @bcwblade​   has sought the old blood:   not only is Simon going to hold her hand, but he’s going to rub circles into it. he waits for to loosen, relax... because it’s only then that he whispers: ‘  i am terrified for you  ’

          𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘   ──   𝐀 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓(𝐄𝐒𝐒) 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄, 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍-𝐓𝐎-𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓.  Silence engulfs what little is left of the woman, for even vocalizing a single thought has become an arduous task: her maw aches, the gums inside of her mouth continuously bleed for the presence of teeth  (  no, they are not teeth, they are fangs  )  that ought not to be there, her muscles stiffen at irregular intervals and even her quivering lungs, seemingly suffocated by the embrace of her ribs, have suddenly forgotten how to properly breathe.  AND HIS TOUCH...  His touch is neither soothing nor calming, it sets the expanse of pale flesh on fire, scars her skin and burrows into the tendrils beneath.

                                       [  what is holy ought to never be touched by what is unholy  ]

         Head hangs low, achromatic gaze hidden beneath ichor-tainted silk.  Her vision is blurred, a fragmentary conglomeration of pigments that would never belong to the bright rainbows that she used to cherish when she was a child  ;  EVERYTHING IS VOID OF COLOR NOW, the cathedral, the city, her own heart too.   ❝  It’s not over yet... It cannot be over yet.  ❞   Voice is feeble, different from the proud and domineering tonality that she formerly used to embrace when talking with commoners and hunters  ;  she feels bare, she feels trapped in this cage of mortality that, one day, will be much too minuscule to hold what festers inside  (  THE BEAST SNEERS, the time will come, white will bleed red  )  .  An almost imperceptible shake of her head, the leisure slumping downwards of tired shoulders and, albeit for naught but a moment, she leans against him.   ❝  It matters not how many times I will have to lacerate my eyes or drown in the blood of the gods to keep the beast inside under control... I will not lose myself.  ❞  

        How ironic, that she has long since lost herself.         Not because of the Old Blood, not because of Beasthood...         But because of her own wholly destructive and poignant ambitions.

[lupichorous]

thinking about the fact that amelia is almost blind when the hunter comes to find her inside of the cathedral because she had previously scratched her eyes with her jagged nails  (  thus almost gouging them out  )  in a desperate frenzy caused by the many visions of beasthood that had been plaguing her in the previous weeks. 

this is why she then begins to cover the upper part of the visage with silken cloth, to conceal the damage that she has caused and that, despite her inhumane healing processes, is still visible to the keen eye. 

[lupichorous]

✞ ･ﾟ: *  BETWEEN YOU AND THESE BONES.   ┊   not accepting. ↳   @derjaegermond​​   has sought the old blood:   ‘ There are many things that will fit beneath your skin,' The remark came, "Secrets, insults... Memories that linger," She paused momentarily as if some how in consideration, "So many ways to peel it all back too. Pry it apart, layer by bloody layer. How much lies beneath that porcelain visage of yours?"

          𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖, 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍.  Dull are the words that descend ‘pon consciously deafened ears, a knife with a jagged end that tries to tear frail skin apart and lacerate aching muscles, a wholly futile attempt at finally uncovering WHAT is hidden beneath the deceitful exterior of a saint(ess)  ;  IT FESTERS, a mortal and debilitating disease without a cure, an endless desire for what can  [ not ]  be obtained, a hunger for all that is profane and noxious.  Such is the fate of an unfortunate orphan   ──   to continuously long for something, to desperately try to fill the VACANT SPACING within bones in pursuance of, one day, feeling whole.

         Overly theatrical is the loud sigh that now escapes from barely parted tiers.  Proud spine remains elegantly arched, slender shoulders stiffened by the excruciating burden ‘pon them and facial features molded into a cold and heartless expressionism   /   She is neither heartless or barren of sentimentality, she is merely loveless.  The Vicar indulges in the soothing embrace of apathetic silence for a moment longer before, finally, her empty gaze is redirected towards her interlocutor: the smile that thus embellishes crimson lips is that of a forlorn beast, not of a holy woman.   ❝  If you are that curious to discover what lies beneath my façade, why don’t you pry me open like you do with your dearly beloved corpses  ?  You have become quite proficient at tearing tissues apart, I am certain.  ❞  

        Laughter, silver-belled in tonality yet sentimentally hollow.   ❝  Who knows, my dear Helena...  Maybe, if you’re lucky, amidst all the lies and secrets that I carry within me, you might even find that HAPPY GIRL who used to braid flowers in your hair and kiss your cheekbones at sunset.  ❞  

[catradorea]

bloodborne scenery ↳ grand cathedral

[lockhvrts]

BLOODBORNE | Scenery

[phantomemes]

starters  /  prompts taken from f. d. soul’s work ,  between you and these bones .  feel free to change pronouns  /  tenses as necessary .

‘  the problem is you keep trying to use your eyes  ’

‘  how i soften when you pull me against you  ’

‘  you are teaching me to love  ’

‘  i will pretend that i have not already heard the question in your eyes  ’

‘  you perhaps will become my swan song  ’

‘  it is a very human thing to love  ’

‘  you are my good days  ’

‘  i have been loved dearly  ’

‘  i promise you will not always be this war  ’

‘  thank god for the stubbornness of organs  ’

‘  it takes me seven days to stop being in love with you  ’

‘  there will always be another day  ’

‘  there will always be another mercy  ’

‘  perhaps i will take up dancing again  ’

‘  what a pretty little disaster you will be  ’

‘  i am terrified for you  ’

‘  i will fold inside of myself  ’

‘  today i am thankful  ’

‘  i didn’t want to sleep because i didn’t want to wake  ’

‘  come and get me  ’

‘  i tell myself i do not need you  ’

‘  i think i broke again last night  ’

‘  i’m just trying to connect with you  ’

‘  you are an ocean that will perhaps never stop crashing  ’

‘  burn the house down in search of yourself  ’

‘  don’t you dare ever stop looking  ’

‘  i struggle not to feel guilty  ’

‘  you are a wild  ,  unkempt thing  ’

‘  sometimes it is a very sad thing to be human and longing  ’

‘  find that you are made of russian nesting dolls  ’

‘  the trees are always kindest with spring comes  ’

‘  teach yourself the hymns again  ’

‘  he is every amen i have ever laid down on lips  ’

‘  this life is an altar  ’

‘  i am sorry i do not have more time  ’

‘  there is a mountain in me  ’

‘  by the morning i am a triumph  ’

‘  there are words playing hooky in the back of your throat  ’

‘  today is by far the most beautiful creature i have ever come across  ’

‘  there are many things that will fit beneath your skin  ’

‘  forgiveness does not take up much room  ’

‘  some days you will breathe and it will be enough  ’

‘  you do not have to hold it quite so tightly  ’

‘  there is a prayer in me  ,  still  ’

‘  you scare me a little  ’

‘  you can be a good thing and not a whole thing  ’

‘  there are flowers in my chest again  ’

‘  the rain comes and sounds like you  ’

‘  i cannot tell you why i still trust god  ’

‘  find peace and build a home out of it  ’

‘  there is never an end  ’